I was in the corner of a bare, brown field, with a high hedgerow close by. Around were the foundations of demolished cottages, and I was seated upon a heap of brick-rubbish and plaster.

The two who were dressed in rough, shooting kit I took to be military men, while three others were farm-hands, and the girl--a tall, rather good-looking open-air girl, was dressed in a short, tweed skirt, well-cut, a thick jacket, a soft felt hat, and heavy, serviceable boots.

No second glance was needed to show that, although so roughly dressed, she was undoubtedly a lady.

One of the men called her Maisie, and later I knew that her name was Maisie Morrice, that she was his sister, who had been walking with the "guns."

My presence down the well certainly needed explanation, and as they had rescued me, it was necessary to satisfy their natural curiosity.

"I had a curious adventure here last night," I told them, after pausing to take breath. "I came from London to see a lady living at Melbourne House. A lady named Petre--but I was given some drugged wine, and--well, when I came to I found myself down there. That's all."

"A very unpleasant experience, I should say," remarked the elder of the two sportsmen, a tall, grey-moustached man, as he surveyed me. "I suppose you'll go back to Melbourne House and get even with the lady? I would!"

"Melbourne House!" echoed the other man. "Why, Maisie, that's where old Miss Morgan lived, and it's been taken by some woman with an Indian servant, hasn't it?"

"Yes," replied the girl. "She's been there a month or two, but quite a mystery. n.o.body has called on her. Mother wouldn't let me."

"Apparently she's not a very desirable acquaintance," remarked her brother grimly.

"I want to go there," I said feebly, trying to rise.

"You seem to have hurt your head pretty badly," remarked the elder sportsman. "I suppose you'd better go into Colchester and see the police--eh?"

"I'll drive him in, sir," volunteered one of the men, whom I took to be the farmer.

"Yes, Mr. Cuppin," exclaimed the girl. "Get your trap and drive this gentleman to the doctor and the police."

"Thank you," I replied. "But I don't want the people at Melbourne House to know that I'm alive. They believe me dead, and it will be a pretty surprise for them when I return, after seeing the doctor. So I ask you all to remain silent about this affair--at least for an hour or so. Will you?"

They all agreed to do so, and, being supported by two of the men, I made my way across the field to the farm; and ten minutes later was driving into Colchester in the farmer's dog-cart.

At the "Cups" my appearance caused some sensation, but, ascending to my room, I quickly washed, changed my ruined suit, and made myself presentable, and then went to see an elderly and rather fussy doctor, who put on his most serious professional air, and who was probably the most renowned medical man in the town. The provincial medico, when he becomes a consultant, nearly always becomes pompous and egotistical, and in his own estimation is the only reliable man out of Harley Street.

The man I visited was one of the usual type, a man of civic honours, with the aspirations of a mayoralty, I surmised. I think he believed that I had injured my head while in a state of intoxication, so I did not undeceive him, and allowed his a.s.sistant to bathe and bandage my wound and also the bite upon my cheek, while the farmer waited outside for me.

When at last I emerged, I hesitated.

Should I go to the police and tell them what had occurred? Or should I return alone to Melbourne House, and by my presence thwart whatever sinister plans might be in progress.

If I went to the police I would be forced to explain much that I desired, at least for the present, to keep secret. And, after all, the local police could not render me much a.s.sistance. I might give the woman and her accomplices in charge for attempted murder, but would such course help in the solution of the Harrington Gardens affair?

After a few moments' reflection I decided to drive straight to the house of shadows and demand an explanation of the dastardly attempt upon me.

A quarter of an hour later Mr. Cuppin pulled up near the long, ivy-covered house, and, alighting, I made my way within the iron gate and up the gravelled path to the front door, where I rang.

I listened attentively, and heard someone moving.

Yes, the house was not empty, as I had half feared.

A moment later a neat maid-servant opened the door, and regarded me with some surprise.

"Is Mrs. Petre at home?" I inquired.

"No, sir, she isn't," replied the girl with a strong East Anglian accent.

"When will she be in?" I asked.

"I really don't know, sir," she said. "She hasn't left word where she's gone."

"Is anyone else at home?"

"No, sir."

"How long have you been with Mrs. Petre?" I asked, adding, in an apologetic tone, "I hope I'm not too inquisitive?"

"I've been here about two months--ever since she took the house."

"Don't you think your mistress a rather curious person?" I asked, slipping half-a-sovereign into her hand. She regarded the coin, and then looked at me with a smile of surprise and satisfaction.

"I--I hardly know what you mean, sir," she faltered.

"Well, I'll be quite frank with you," I said. "I'm anxious to know something about what company she keeps here. Last night, for instance, a gentleman called in a taxi. Did you see him?"

"No, sir," she answered. "Mistress sent me out on an errand to the other side of the town, and when I came back just before half-past eleven I found the front door ajar, and everybody gone. And n.o.body's been back here since."

After disposing of my body, then, the precious trio had fled.

I knew that Phrida must now be in hourly peril of arrest--for that woman would, now that she believed me dead, lose not an instant in making a d.a.m.ning statement to the police regarding what had occurred on that night in Harrington Gardens.

CHAPTER XXI.

RECORDS A STRANGE STATEMENT.

"Will you permit me to come inside a moment?" I asked the girl. "I want you to tell me one or two things, if you will."

At first she hesitated, but having surveyed me critically and finding, I suppose, that I was not a tramp she opened the door wider and admitted me to the room wherein her mistress had entertained me on the previous night.

I glanced quickly around. Yes, nothing had been altered. There was the chair in which I had sat, and the round, mahogany table upon which my head had laid so helplessly while the reptile, charmed by the Hindu's music, had sat erect with swaying head.

Ah! as that terrible scene again arose before my eyes I stood horrified.

The girl noticed my demeanour, and looked askance at me.

"Does your mistress have many visitors?" I asked her. "To tell you the truth, I'm making these confidential inquiries on behalf of an insurance company in London. So you can be perfectly open with me. Mrs. Petre will never know that you have spoken."

"Well, sir," replied the dark-eyed maid, after a pause, during which time she twisted her dainty little ap.r.o.n in her hand, "I suppose I really ought not to say anything, but the fact is mistress acts very curiously sometimes. Besides, I don't like Ali."